Look out of the window,what do you see?Sorrow, pain and misery.People on the street,nowhere to go,What can be done?Doesn't anyone know?Reality is what we face, hope disappearing without a trace.Reality is what we face,Welcome to the human race.

Upon that early summer morna young boy soldier was to be bornHail hail, said his father with a cigarme and this boy ought to go far.As each and every summertime passedhis father knew his childhood wouldn't lastAs the letter came through the doorhe knew hi...